No Children
by llittleblacksubmariness
Summary: Growing up Holly Owens came to realization quickly that her life was far from normal. A foggy past and a notorious hunter for a father destined her for a life on the fringe. Things seem to be looking up until the Winchesters walked into her life, their long list of allies and enemies treading close behind them.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Life is a curious thing. We spend the time given to us searching for the "whole meaning of it" and more often than not it slips right past it. We ignore the simplest of answers even when they are placed directly in front of us. I asked my father once what it meant to waste one's life and he told me rather simply that no life is ever wasted. "_We all serve our part"_, like actors on a stage we play our roles. Occasionally though, some of us decided to throw out the script and make up are own lines. "_We can't all be heroes kiddo, but if you can meet your death knowing that at least one thing on this earth has been made better by you then your life has meaning."_ I never expected much out of myself but my father had. He told me he knew I'd grow up to do great things and live such a life that death would tremble at the thought of taking me. Sadly I haven't done a very good job at holding up my end.

It wasn't from a lack of trying, I really did attempt to do something good with my life. Nursing school straight out of high school, volunteering, I even gave countless stray cats a home. By home I mean my home. I've always kind of been a cat lady. Then these two strangers walked into my life and everything changed. I was still a nurse of sorts, my clientele had just changed. I suppose being a hunter was just another step in my whole pay it forward life style.

Dean is saving my life as I stand in front of a crowd, knees trembling while the noose around my neck begins to prickle. After that Dean's watching me in horror as the Son of Perdition sends me flying across the room. Dislodged piece of piping tearing it's way through my insides. All around me are the sounds of cracks, my ribs snapping as they go. It's a shame, Dean and I had finally became friends.

Honestly, of all the things I've done in my life dying has got to be the most unusual. No one could really explain it to you, there's no true way to describe it, it's just something you have to experience to understand. You might as well ask someone what heaven looks like. There are few things in life that belong completely to ourselves. Death and whatever comes after, well that's entirely up to you. There is a great kindness and love that comes with being with someone as they pass. Still, when it really comes down to it, we all die alone.

For a moment the fog in my mind is lifted. Outside the city bustles by, utterly unaware that my survival rate has just dropped to zero. The dilapidated ceiling, wires, and outlets sticking out of the cracks in the wall are our only audience. Dean is doing his best to keep it together but I can see the panic growing inside him. Fear shining out of those big hazel eyes beautiful in that way that they hardly seem real. Frozen in shock we stare at each other, not sure which is worst, being impaled against a wall or the ripping off the band aid moment when you pull yourself free. The way he's looking at me I know he needs my approval or at least some acknowledgment of what's he's about to do. Half in shock I manage a nod. Inhaling deeply he grips me firmly by the shoulders and yanks me forward. The scream that shreds its way out of my lungs sounds inhuman. The dying yelp of an animal struck by a fast moving vehicle.

Mortality at it's finest.

Like a sack of bricks I slump heavily against Dean's chest. No sooner as he caught me that the room begins to spin.

"Look at me!" Dean demands as he stands over me, my vision gradually coming into focus. The building were standing in wont be here tomorrow. With Lucifer and Michael in their respectable vessels tomorrows show down will most likely torch half the planet and Detroit will be leveled to a wasteland of smoldering rumble. People will get up in the morning to go about their lives, get dressed, drive to work and in one brief second cease to exist completely. No body really understands it, we just do our jobs, and die.

That, or the Croatoan virus will eat its way through ninety percent of the population turning them into cannibalistic freaks. 2004 version Dawn of the Dead, none of that slow moving bull shit. These bastards will run at you in a full sprint and once your bit your done. After that you have a very small window of time in which to off yourself before your brain begins to boil and your friends start to look tasty.

With his hands pressed against the gaping hole in my side Dean tries to stop the bleeding. Its a fruitless attempt seeing that even if the bleeding were to stop my eternal organs are far beyond repair. In sort of sick fascination I keep an eye on the pool of crimson as it spreads further across my chest. This shirt had a pattern to it but I can't remember it now. Gathering me in his arms Dean and I travel down the dilapidated hallway, the constant dripping of my blood leaving a gruesome trail behind us.

When I was a child my father and I visited my grandmother in the nursing home nearly every weekend. Those trips were never very heartwarming but one in particular always stood out. I'm still not sure what it was, intuition or just coincidence, but when my father and I left that day I knew it be the last time we'd ever see my grandmother alive. The phone rang at 8:14 that night and just like that she was dead. One second here and the next gone. From the tips of my toes to my forehead I can feel the chemical reactions inside me.

Five minutes to heart failure.

Five minutes to evacuate soul.

Five minutes till nothing at all.

"Wait." Dean's arm's are wrapped beneath me, holding me halfway inside is jacket. My voice is weak bundle of words as my head bounces against his shoulder with every heavy step. "Please wait." I can hear the sound of a door being kicked open as cool outside air fills my lungs. Everybody assumes the reason for oxygen mask on airplanes is so that passengers can breathe in the case of a crash, but actually that's just a front. Truth is oxygen can get you high if consumed in a high concentration. Right before you die you begin to take deep panicked breaths, do this long enough and you'll eventually become docile and accept your fate. "I don't want to die running." I mutter into Dean's chest as we hurry down the alley, boots echoing hard against the concrete.

"You're not going to die." Dean says confidently. Over the last handful of months I've became a great decipher of the many voices of Dean Winchester. He has his normal everyday gruff, followed by his what I like to call the "I'm not wearing hockey pads" deep batman voice and lastly this; the bitter hopelessness that comes when he knows he's lying to a friend. Odd, here I am the one dying and I feel guilty. The idea of leaving him given what just happened, well another loss is the last thing this poor guy needs. Not to mention I had recently became aware of the fact that I was possibly falling in love with him.

"Bet you the impala your wrong." Timing has never been a strong point of mine and my attempt at a bad joke falls just short of tasteless. Doesn't really surprise me, Deans never been very good with goodbyes. His track record with farewells has been anything but prudish. Normally they end in blood and tonight I am no exception. I nudge him in the side and try to catch his attention but he quickly adverts his eyes.

"Don't do that." He says despairingly while searching in his pocket for his phone.

"Do what?" I ask I reach into my jacket and hand him mine instead. He nearly drops it as it passes from my hand to his. The smooth glass screen is streaked with blood and he's doing his best not to fumble with it. I hear the phone ring once before Bobby picks up on the other end.

"_What's going on?"_

"Bring the car now!"

"_Dean-"_

"Now!"

With his back pressed against the alley wall Dean takes a quick scan of our surroundings. That's when I feel it, that first jolt, the screech of tires right before a crash. My body jerks and that warm searing pain engulfs me. Arms wrapped around me we slide our way to the ground. My blood boils and freezes all at once. We're down to three minutes.

With his palm against my cheek Dean pulls me closer. Pressed this close to him I can feel his shoulders raise in a deep inhale then jerk, jerk,jerk their way back down. He's beginning to see just how all of this will end. I had driven the poor man crazy with our arguments over where to eat, fighting over who would drive, basically everything we could bicker about. But he was about to have to add me to the long list of people he'd been unable to save. If I knew how this would all turn out I would've preferred to have died in the run down apartment upstairs. These long goodbyes are always worst.

With trembling fingers I grip the collar of his jacket and pull it close against my cheeks. The skin on my hands looks thin and pale under the moonlight. Inside my mind a search for something to say, a way to tell him the truth without burdening him with it. Moments like this though make it damn near impossible to think straight. When your time is running out everything begins to seem overwhelming. The big picture is blinding, the little details deafening.

"If you were planning on telling me anything deep and meaningful" I mumble weakly into his neck. "I'd suggest you get started."

"What are you talking about?" He asks, adjusting his grip on me and trying to sound casual. "It's not even that bad." My mouth taste the way your hands do the after you've been counting change. Shaking my head in disagreement my chin is abruptly decorated with crimson spots. Any hope you have of living tends to go out the window right around the time you start coughing up blood. Gently he thumbs away the blood. This is when I feel the tears because in this moment my life matters for nothing. "It's not that bad." He assures me again, this time sounding even more bleak than before.

My heart feels weak and heavy, but everywhere else the pain is ebbing away. The seconds fly away and every second seems somehow colder. "_Holly. Holly!"_ I can hear Dean's voice in my ear but it seems at to great a distance to reply. Tires squeal as the Impala rounds the corner before coming to a halt next to us. My eyes flicker at the headlights, car doors screeching loudly at being forced open too quickly. Glancing up I look at the stars one last time. They're so far away that by the time their light has reached us its already burnt out. My father once told me that all we ever see of stars are their old memories. I blink and they're gone. Two minutes.

We're in the backseat now. I've spent so many of my last days in this car that it almost seems poetic that I would die in it. Hopefully it won't ruin the interior. Dean's hands feel warm against my cold skin as they push down firmly. Seeing him trying to slow the bleeding is like watching someone try to carry water in the palm of their hands. No matter how hard he tries it continues slipping through. When I look down I see nothing but red. Red shirt, red jacket, red hands. Even the longest ends of my gold hair are now a deep shade of scarlet. There's a darkness when you die that comes without a warning. Its as if the dimmer on your life is being turned down. One second you're trying to hold on, the next your just letting go.

Tight arms tighten around me, this is it. Castiel turns to me from where he sits in the opposite window seat. A hand on my foot, his blue eyes all knowing if any one else knew for certain that I was a goner it was him. His power sources may be depleted but he's still a angle of the Lord, even if his parents did sort of kick him out. I'm piercing the veil and seeing things with clarity. Even with his hard exterior he still seems solemn at my passing. In the front Bobby's driving like a manic but I catch his eyes glancing back at me through the rear view mirror. "I'm gonna take care of you." Dean's breath his hot as he speaks softly against my ear. "We're gonna get you patched up."

Tick tock

I'm running on fumes. I want to tell them something that they can hold on to, anything to give them hope but there's no room for it. We are all at the bottom together. I'm no poet, there is nothing I could say to make this situation any better. Sams gone full dark side from saying yes. The apocalypse hasn't been adverted and there's a good chance I'll meet all of them on the other side tomorrow. We all knew this was the most likely consequence of our actions, but damn we tried.

Tick tock

The light is fading. I can hear the wind howling outside. This is it. With what little strength I can muster I find Dean's blood stained hand in the dark and squeeze it. I have his full attention but as quickly as I open my mouth to speak my thoughts fly apart.

One minute to heart failure.

One minute to evacuate soul.

One minute till its all over.

Its so dark now, so cold. I'm reaching for the last bit of life in me, but I fall. Somewhere in the distance my train is pulling in. My eyes close and I can hear the sound of my name but it's too late. Always has been and always will be.

My name is Holly Owens, most people start their stories off at the beginning but I always found that a little too David Copperfield for my taste. My life never made much sense or followed much of a schedule anyways. I was twenty three when I died on a city street in Detroit a day before the Apocalypse.

Talk about cutting it close.

There would be no obituary or condolence cards. Just a small funeral under a tree in Barton Hollow Alabama. Sam and Dean did end up doing the impossible and casting Lucifer back into his cage. In the grand scheme of things it was for the better of humanity, not so much for our little miss fit gang. This was it, the proper point for my story to end. Bobby would go back to hunting and Dean would finally get the nice perfectly boring life he wanted. But God brought Castiel back and Castiel has his connections.


	2. Bury Me with It

After your heart stops beating it takes roughly four minutes before the brain completely shuts down. Four minutes before it is entirely depleted of oxygen. Four minutes of nerves firing rapidly making for an odd assortment of facial expressions.

Executioners holding the decapitated heads of kings, body less, and blinking at the cheering crowd.

Four minutes halfway behind the veil, not quite here but not quite gone. I suppose these thoughts occur commonly among the dead and dying but god what I would have given for four more minutes. That's the last thing I remember because then Dean's head was folding down to cover me, lips pursed against my forehead. For a brief moment I was lost in oblivion, silent and calm.

I had been dodging my reaper for what felt like days before I finally made the terrible decision to take a stand. I chose to stay. Later I would spend hours contemplating the thousands of ways I would've left if given the chance again. Worst than that was the company I was forced to keep. After everything with the apocalypse out of the way Dean was finally able to have the apple pie life he'd wanted. He spent the week after my funeral at Bobby's where he cleaned out the Impala. Even with all his scrubbing a bit of me had remained behind, a dot of blood hidden deep beneath the back seat. A tiny little spot that screams "_I was here!"_

After that it was off to Indiana to follow through on the promise he had made with Sam. It didn't matter that he was damaged goods. Apparently Lisa and Dean had a long track record together. So naturally when he showed up half drunk at her door step she let him right in. To be honest I don't know what I really expected. After all, it was what Sam had asked Dean to do. It's not as if I were still in the picture.

Dean was still my friend regardless, even more than that he was like family. Bobby I knew could take care of himself, Dean I wasn't so confident about. The first few months were the worst. Seeing someone you care about suffer without any way in which to comfort them is a special brand of torture. Night after night I was there next to him, sitting on the garage floor, back slumped against the wall. The more he drank the more desperate he became. Hours were spent sprawled over books, entire days consumed with reading every odd news article he could find. Any sign of Sam, any way to bring him back, but it always ended the same. Finally he was coming to the conclusion that it just couldn't be done. I prayed to no one in particular that he might catch a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye. That just maybe after he had given up on Sam he might consider looking for me.

He hadn't, and how I suffered then.

Too keep from going crazy I became the most docile ghost possible. Keeping my distance, Dean and his family gradually became my ward. Each night I kept my watch, a caged but loyal guard dog until one day brought me a guest I wasn't expecting. Castiel seemed as shocked to see me as I was to see him. Turns out the Enochian symbols he had carved into my ribs followed me to the after life. Because I had neither gone to hell nor heaven he couldn't locate my soul. From there he returned me to my body not before we made a pit stop in heaven.

This is where things start to get tricky. Something a lot of people don't know about heaven is that it's not just one big plain of existence or non existence depending how you look at it. No, heaven is far more intricate than that. This wasn't the part of heaven I had been to before, this was Cas's heaven. A beautiful lush garden in the middle of a gorgeous spring day. There we walked for hours and he told me of the war that had broken out in heaven between his and Raphael's forces.

"Our number's are not unlimited." The strain in his voice was obvious as he spoke. I didn't need to ask him how things were going, the way his brow pulled together said enough. I had seen him look like this before, when Dean's stubborn ass decided to be the sacrificial lamb and say yes to Michael. With hands buried deep in his pockets and eyes abashedly finding their way from the ground he turned to me. "I'm sorry Holly, but I must ask too much of you again."

Looking back going to work for Castiel may have not been the best choice but when you're in the pit of despair even the smallest glimmer of hope can blind you.

I wake up in yet another hotel room. Austin maybe? I have to check the laminated card with the tv stations on one side and take out numbers on the other to be sure. Turn's out I'm wrong, looks like I'm in Missouri today. As I rub the sleep out of my eyes last night starts to come back to me. The hours and hours of driving before pulling into the first motel outside of town. I barely managed to put sigils up before I passed out. Body atop the covers, boots dangling halfway off my feet.

Regardless of how late I go to bed I always wake up early, dawn to be exact. Lying in bed alone I watch the color of the faded curtains change, streams of light peaking through on each side. The thing about my job is you never really get a sense of time. Everywhere I go it's gain an hour lose an hour. Everyday I awake in a different place. The remnants of my old life are just that, fragments of something that still existed but would never quiet work again. Never once had I spoke to Bobby, or Sam, or Dean even. No, my situation was best handled on my own.

No baggage, no liabilities.

I had been working like this for months on the same series of cases. The armory in heaven had been looted when the first acts of war broke out. My job was to find the missing weapons and turn them over to Castiel. War is hell regardless of the location, stocking up on weapons became a necessity if we hoped to stand a chance at wining.

Everyday I woke up as somebody new, Detective Eleanor Gibbs with the FBI, or Gale Winter's a writer for a crime magazine. Hunting was a hard enough gig on its own, this method of it was flat out terrible. Meeting knew people everyday loses its appeal when they can't remember you, but Castiel was busy with the war in heaven so I was picking up the slack down here on earth.

Flash forward seven hours and I'm running up the front steps outside Bobby's aging home. The door is locked but I still have a key. Fighting with the bolt I stumble inside, feet thundering loud against the old floor boards. They surely hear me now. As I'm running towards the basement door I hear the sound boots on the stairs. Out flies Dean with his gun drawn. The smooth pearl grip peeking out from under his fingers. The saying "you look like you've seen a ghost" has never been so relevant

With a hand held out I retrieve the silver knife I keep in my boot. His eyes follow every breath, every tiny little movement. Dragging the cold blade against my skin there is no hiss or crackle of burning flesh. This clears me of being a shape shifter, a ghoul, a werewolf and about a dozen other nasty things. Bobby and I used to argue that there had to be a better method of checking for such things then just slicing into your own skin. Bobby was an old school hunter though and always preferred the classics.

"Hello Dean." Castiel's words coming out of my mouth.

"Holly?" My name rolls of his tongue like it's the first time he's said it in months. Nodding I take a step towards the basement but he quickly moves aside to stop me. "What are you doing?" He asks while using his superior strength to push me back.

I've lost his trust.

If time weren't an issue I might be hurt. With my arm cocked back I throw my elbow into his face. It connects loudly with his jaw sending him stumbling back down the stairs. The blade is still in my hand and now it's against his throat.

"What the hell are you!" He hisses at me.

Yes, perhaps if I had more time things could be different. The light in the panic room begins to glow bright white and from within the silence comes a blood curdling scream. All it take's is one second of being distracted to lose the upper hand. With my attention elsewhere Dean seizes the opportunity to over power me. One good shove and my body collides with the cold ground. Dean has my wrist pulled behind me as his knee drives into my back. He's trying to effectively hold me down but given that he more than likely doesn't want to hurt me puts him at a risk. Like a cat held over water I claw my way free. Kicking and slapping at whatever I must to get the hell away. Back on my feet I rush down the hallway, the panic room isn't more than a foot away.

Even I have to admit that when Bobby whacked me in the face with the butt of his shot gun it was mostly my fault. I had gotten tunnel vision; honest, I was too focused on the bright glowing light inside the panic room to notice. Blood began to burst forth from my nose on impact, sticky and hot against my lips. My hands flew out to my sides, frantically reaching for anything to catch my balance on. Instead they we're again yanked behind me and this time when my chest was slammed against the ground I knew there was no getting out of it. Sams stopped screaming.

It's over.

For all my running and speeding to get here in time to stop Sam from having his soul returned and where am I? A bloody mess knocked out on the floor. Next I'm being tied to a chair, a bright red devils trap drawn at my feet. It was only a matter of time before Castiel arrives. By now he would have a pretty clear idea of what was going on.

Yes he had sent me to stop the returning of Sam's soul.

Yes I had arrived in time to do so.

No, I was not successful.

"What are you?" Dean asks coldly while splashing holy water onto my face. Again nothing happens. The dried blood begins to flow down my chin. It's still dark outside but I can see the sun peeking over the trees.

"Good question." I mumble, but their eyes don't soften. To them I'm most likely some monster, sick and twisted enough to take the form of a dead friend. It's their job to think this way so I don't hold it against them. "I'm not a demon or a shape shifter or anything like that. I past all your test!"

This was true, silver, salt, holy water and still nothing. Inside my head the sirens started going off. Hopefully Castiel wasn't too busy to take notice.

"Care to explain that?" Bobby asks gruffly. He hasn't gotten much sleep and it's really starting to show.

Our little reunion takes place in the middle of Bobby's library. From what I can see the house could use a good cleaning but other than that Bobby has kept up where I left off. Photos I took of all of us still hang on the walls. All of our faces smiling back at me. Even the smell of my own blood can't delude the scent of whiskey and old spice that hangs in the air.

I want my old job back. I miss the solitude. I miss always being a stranger.

I want to lie to them and feel no remorse. To be completely detached.

"Not particularly." Oh the excitement, the anticipation, the flutter of wings. "But I know someone that will."


	3. Dilaudid

Before I met Sam and Dean home was a small two bedroom house off Mills avenue. My father had spent his childhood there and shortly after my graduation he had it put in my name. Dad was leaving. Simple as that. It didn't matter that I begged him to stay or that the cancer in his lungs was spreading to his lymph nodes. Once my father sets his mind on something there is no way in which to sway him.

The way I met the Winchesters is hunters have this ability to pick each other out of a crowd. I'm not sure what it is, perhaps its the way we carry ourselves, probably just all the flannel. Either way its hard to bull shit a bullshitter so when the two of them showed up on my porch pretending to be FBI agents I knew something was up.

"Excuse me but are you Miss Holly Owens?" The taller one asks me. From the kitchen trouts Buster, all hundred thirty eight fluffy pounds of him. Twice when he's gotten loose there have been reported bear sightings, each time it was him. Dad had chosen him for me when I first moved out, a Caucasian Shepard, they're known for being territorial and that's putting it lightly.

The two strangers noticeably stiffened as Buster came to stand next to me, nothing but a thin screen door separating us. I nod and grabbing my jacket and Buster's leash I step out to join them on the porch. It's early September and the trees in my small yard are shedding an array of yellow leaves atop my side walk and lawn.

"This is about my dad isn't it?" I ask bluntly, hooking Buster to his leash as he starts leading the way down the steps. The two men share a slight look of confusion. "I mean you two are obviously hunters right?"

"Yea...um I'm Sam Winchester." The tallest one replies. Being from the south a certain amount of hospitality is bred into you. For all the hicks and stereotypes there are far more polite people that will wave to every stranger they pass on the street. Not to mention the cooking, lord could we cook. By the time I was four half of my grandmother's recipes had been chiseled into my brain. With my lopsided smile and painted nails I extend my hand. Both seem a little surprised by it. I can only assume they're not particularly used to being greeted in such a way. "This is my brother Dean."

Its odd how much you can tell about somebody just by their handshake. In the way in which their fingers wrap against the back of your palm. Sam's engulfed mine, his palm the size of a catcher's mitt but he looked me in the eye and smiled. He was no doubt the politer of the two. On the other end of the spectrum was Dean. Years of hunting had worn his hands down and little scars and scratches covered nearly every inch of them.

"Is he dead?" I ask. My eyes stay focused on buster as we near the end of the sidewalk and step into the street. The moment my father left I began dreading this day. I knew him. All the years he put in as a self employed businessman never measured up to the work he had done before. Some people are just born with something that compels them to put their lives at risk to save others. Dad had never wanted to stop hunting. He had only done it because I had begged him to; not to mention he never got over losing my mother. The second he sold the business I knew he was signing his own death warrant.

"We don't know."

Relief fills my lungs. At least there is a chance hes still alive.

"Um, I've got to walk Buster." I thumb to my massive dog who suddenly jumps at a squirrel and nearly yanks me off my feet. In his suit and tie Dean hops over my marigolds and hurries over to me, grabbing a hold of the leash and helping me pull Buster back.

"We'll join you." He says with a grin, our faces only inches apart. He smells like mens body wash and gunpowder. Clean and gritty all at once. I felt myself begin to panic, this wasn't suppose to happen. I had made a promise that this wouldn't happen and I believe in keeping my word. As politely as I can I pull back and thank him before leading Buster down the street.

For the next fifteen minutes they asked their questions.

"Does your father have any enemies?"

"When was the last time you spoke to him?"

"Do you know what he was hunting?"

This is what I missed most about being around hunters. When they talk they're straight forward. No bullshit just right to the point. And when you spoke they actually listen. Even if they're not working a case, in their line of work they had to treat the people they met like it was the last time. As harsh as it sounds they just had assume that you might bite it. Comes with the job description.

"Yes my father has surely made some enemies over the years."

"Four days ago."

"No, I wasn't aware he was hunting again."

The air around us was cool and sweet, autumn hanging lightly on the breeze. I kept my place between the two of them, moving aside whenever a car passed by or Buster got distracted. They told me about how bad things were about to get. All those omens I had seen, turned out they weren't just the paranoid musings of a retired hunter. The apocalypse was descending down upon us. As we rounded our way back down my street the two of them came to a stop by what I assumed was their car.

"You need to come with us." Sam says as he leans back against the passenger side door.

"Come with you where?" I ask over my shoulder as I make my way up the sidewalk. "I don't even know you two."

"Listen here buttercup its not really up for debate." Dean says through gritted teeth. Something must have really crawled up his ass because any worry I had about falling for him went out the second he spoke so coldly to me. Personally I've never cared much for being bossed around. I've always had a bit of a problem with authority. Being a straight A student was only a side effect of having detention nearly everyday after school. It afforded me the time to do the homework I wouldn't have otherwise. The only person whose rules I ever truthfully followed were my father's and even those I broke from time to time.

"No you listen here asshole!" I hiss at him as I take a step back towards the street. "I'm not going to be threatened-" In a moment of chaos my voice cut off. My feet are lifted as the blast that was my house and all my personal effects sends me flying into the street.

I had been living in my modest home off Mills avenue for a little over a year. After being on the road so much growing up I ached for the comfortable nest of home life. Pictures I had taken and framed hung on the olive painted walls. My antique coffee table, the desk I kept every piece of personal information in. Now they were all splinters. The couch I had gotten for such a great deal was burning it's way into the foundation. Everything I had owned was blasted across the street or into neighbor's yards. The wardrobe I had spent forever getting just right was nothing more than a heap of melted hangers scattered here and there.

When I come to everything in a fifty foot radius is covered in dust. Buster is barking frantically and forming a tight circle around me. Stumbling to my feet my eyes sting hot with tears. All around us embers pop and crackle, the leaves on the ground turn crisp and black. My entire life has been reduced to a pile of smoldering rumble.

Shame, I was so close to really starting something here. Normality was just around the corner. I had a degree, a respectable job, nice home. Memory foam pillows, hand painted coffee mugs, the perfect queen sized bed. For years I had shoved my past into the furthest corners of my mind, convincing myself that if I lived a docile simple life that I would be set. Buried inside my little nest of nick nacks and decorative place mats I thought I was safe, but at some point the things I once owned began to own me. Every plume of smoke, every snap as a support beam gave way and came crashing to the ground was a shackle cut free. Sometimes it takes losing everything to realize you didn't need it in the first place.

Oh, the enlightenment.

The police would later tell me that someone had slipped a homemade bomb through a unlocked window in the basement. It was set to go off when I returned from taking my dog out. Whoever had planted it must have watched me for days checking whenever I left or returned home. It was most likely someone I knew. They advised me not to leave town.

"Son of a bitch!" I hear Dean yell somewhere off to my right. His deep gruff voice snapping me back to reality. The explosion had thrown both Buster and I back several feet and I reached around me in a daze for his leash.

Everything is moving slowly. The flaming scraps of my home dance against the breeze. Tiny bits of light drifting slowly to the ground. All of my nice little shit, gone.

When I was seventeen I got my first job, a waitress at a small family owned restaurant. One night I was working when a man with a shot gun came raging through the front door. He rushed at me, eyes fully dilated, the slide cocking back. I shot him seven times before my manager stopped me as my hands fumbled in my pocket for my other clip. They fired me the next night and after a few months dad and I moved away. All my life hunting had been separate from my day to day life. For the first time I saw just how much it separated me from everyone else.

"We gotta get out of here!" Dean yells into my face while I stare back at him blankly.

"Buster." I mumble. My ears ringing loud as church bells.

"No." He says very resolutely. "No dogs in the car."

"Like hell, Buster!" I yell and as he begins to thunder back towards us I watch Dean fumble over himself as he dips behind me. Someone is obviously a cat person.

"Alright!" Buster might look terrifying to a stranger but to me he was my baby. I'd had him since he was a puppy and without dad around he became my only family. "But if he takes a crap I swear."

After one insanely chaotic car ride and hours full of questions I had no way of answering at the police station I was finally allowed to leave. By the time we found a pet friendly place to stay we we're all exhausted. Some little lodge that I fronted the bill for considering I was the only one with a four legged friend. An awkward silence had fallen over us since I got overly frustrated and threatened to sick Buster on the next person to ask me something.

When we finally make it to our room I head straight for the bathroom. Inside under the bright lights I look like an air-raid survivor. My hair is tangled and every inch of me is covered in a light dusting of ash. Shaking my head a gray halo forms a circle on the ground around me. I splash my face with cool water a few times and ignore the bags forming under my eyes before heading back into the room. Dean and Sam have already gone to work on supernatural proofing the doors and windows. Quietly I climb atop one of the beds and tuck my knees under me. There are times in life when you choose to do something that down the road will end up screwing you over, but sometimes it's the things you don't do that really come back to bite you in the ass.

I thought I could give up hunting for a normal life.

I assumed that our futures were meant to be a promise not a threat.

I was fucking idiot.

Loving the reviews y'all, keep em coming!


	4. Perfect Desguise

Once you've come to terms with the fact that hunting is your profession nothing else matches up. I can now see why my father craved it so much. When the little old lady paying for a months worth of groceries in front of you at the store decides to pay in change you have no choice but to suck it up and try to be patient. When a ghost flings a chair across the room directly at your face you shoot that fucker full of rock salt. You aren't alive anywhere else like you're alive on a hunt. Maybe it was because you know you're doing something right, or perhaps its the fact that within any moment you could die. Standing so close to death you begin to see all the choices you wish you had made. In my personal opinion most of the monsters we hunt are just pissed off because we can do the things they no longer can but most of us still don't. Watch a game show and I guarantee that 9 out of 10 times winners always go for the new living room set over the free safari trip to Africa.

We all claim to want simple normal lives but even Eve got bored living the same perfect life everyday. Maybe taking a bite of the forbidden fruit was a little more justified than we like to believe. Confined to my chair I watch Dean and Bobby converse quietly. With nothing else to entertain my thoughts I begin to wonder what their reactions will be. Dean will be furious, no doubt, as will Bobby but the old guy has a serious soft spot for me. A part of me used to think it's because he just needed the company, come to think of it now it was probably just my cooking.

In the last ten minutes or so it's started raining. The shingles on the roof curl and in certain spots give way. Little streams of water trickle down here and there, not enough to warrant Bobby repairing the roof, just enough to require a few buckets strategically placed whenever clouds start rolling in. Behind me where there had been nothing suddenly stands Castiel. Ignoring the baffled expressions on Dean and Bobby's faces he easily releases me from my bindings. I gingerly rub my wrist as I stand, the rope having prickled a red line across my pale skin. Fingertips brush lightly across my forehead, the blood and the pain instantly gone.

"Cas what the hell?" Dean shouts.

"I'm sorry Dean." Cas replies stoically calm as he steps a head of me. "But there are somethings in which even your opinion isn't necessary. "

The tension in the room hangs thick between us. Smog smothering cities and everybody wonders why they feel sick constantly. We're consumers. We take in what we give out. Liars heaving off each other's lies. No wonder the worlds going to hell.

My feet remain glued to the floor as I cautiously watch the two exchange glances. Dean, with his eyes narrowed, turns his gaze across the crowded room to me. Our eyes meet and I quickly find a thousand more interesting things to think about. Unblinking I return his gaze. No doubt if I could read minds his would be putting of some serious foul language. Luckily for me I wasn't the only one fronting the blame here. Castiel knew I had returned and neglected to tell Dean as well. Mounted on top of the mess with Sam and his soul I'm not surprised to see the eldest Winchester fuming beneath all that flannel and self hatred.

"Where is Sam?"

Throwing the basement door open Dean's heavy steps proceeded down the stairs, Castiel following quietly behind him.

"So, got anything to drink?" I ask Bobby nonchalantly, leaning against the door frame that separates the kitchen from the library/den area. My arms crossed across my chest. Fingernails digging anxiously through the sleeves of my blouse. I must be such a sight. Crisp black trench coat, high waisted black skirt, white button up. I'm the picture of the perfect secretary.

Heaven has an uptight dress code.

This little reunion of ours is unavoidable, I know that now. Reluctantly I force a smile, an invisible gun pressed to my head screaming _"Be happy!"_

Pull the trigger and redecorate the kitchen in crimson red.

"It's good to have you back kid." He nods to me as he pulls out a chair. The house is exactly how I remember. All those little left over fragments of my old life hung framed upon the walls. The mix matched book shelves I helped Bobby install after haggling the man at the flea market for nearly half an hour. For months I told myself I didn't miss my old life. That I wasn't cut out to be somebody's idea of the perfect wife or daughter, but as I stood in the throes of my old home I began to remember the things I had forced myself to forget. It didn't matter to Bobby that I bitched about the toilet seat always being left up or complained about the decade old water heater. To him I was family.

"It's good to be back."

The words fly out of my mouth before I can cram them back in. We take our seats at the small kitchen table and settle into an unfamiliar silence. Popping the top off an old favorite Bobby fills up a small glass and sends it sliding and sloshing across the table at me. I take my first sip and have to cough it down.

"As crazy as it may sound" cough "I fear I am no long accustomed to liquor."

A hiccup sneaks its way out and I try my best to modestly cover my mouth. Bobby lets out a small chuckle.

Oh how touching.

As he tells me about the going ons of the past few months I try to seem surprised. Truthfully, I already know everything that's happened because Cas knows. Think of him as my boss, he shows me the formula, tells me how to execute it, and then sends me on my way. Even more than that Castiel and I share a sort of bond. Like two cans tied to a sting. Connected.

"Where's Cas?" I ask Dean as he emerges from the basement. It's the logical thing to do, anyone else in my position would ask the same. The illusion of ignorance, or as it's often called 'innocence'.

"Nice to see you too buttercup."

I ignore his rudeness and the use of one of my many nicknames and continue on. "I don't know where miss feather bottom ran off to." He replies gruffly, running a hand over his face he stops to pinch the bridge of his nose. His eyes shut tight. This is clearly taking a heavy toll on him. To be honest, I didn't care much either way. This was a job, and would be handled as such.

No attachments. No baggage. No liabilities.

Any moment and they'll be hurling question after question my way, all of which they'll compel me to answer. Lying is normally my go to option but I've found it best to be honest in situations such as these. Rather than ask permission I seek forgiveness. Walking past me Dean grabs a hold of my glass and carries it into the den.

I could have gotten up. I could have walked over to him and got right in his hostile little face. I could have grabbed him by the shoulders and screamed. _"I was with you you idiotic little shit! I wanted you to save me!"_ But it was at this moment that tired eyed and weary, Sam walked in.

Had I been thinking clearly I would have left right then and there. Sam was alive, and judging by the way he was embracing Dean and Bobby the returning of his soul must have gone more smoothly than I had expected. Like a fly on the wall I try to keep myself backed into a corner, out of eye sight, melting into the faded wallpaper. On a whim I decide to make a quiet dash for the backdoor. Soft as a feather my my feet tip toe towards the exit. "_Leave now!"_ My brain screams against the tender walls of my skull. I'm half way there when my hip catches the corner of the table and shoves it across the tile floor.

"Holly?"

Turning around seems impossible with every passing second the silence grows longer. My whole body is frozen. Dean I could be a jerk to, Bobby not so much but how could I walk out on Sam. If anyone else could understand the things I've gone through it would be him.

_"Get out! Get out now while you can! Run for the door, get out! Pretend like none of this ever happened and go back to being the perfect little solider."_

Detachment.

No baggage, no liabilities.

But strong hands take a hold of me, whipping me around. As my face sank into Sam's warm chest I stood defenseless as my only way out began to disappear.

xxxxxx

So sorry for the delay!


	5. Grand Optimist

It's dawn when I awake. Homeless for the first time in 5 years. There's a small bug crawling across the ceiling of our early 50's art deco motel room. It's painfully obvious there has been no checkup or upkeep since some time around 85. The roof above us hangs pregnant atop our heads. For our own sake Imutter a quick prayer.

"Dear god please do not let this old ass roof fall in and crush us all to shit, Amen."

I can't know for certain but I get the feeling that after all this time nobody will be taking my call. The sound of the heat cranked up drowns out the snores. The rustles of sheets. From one corner to the next I watch the insects migration. Moving slow. Such a tiny thing. I could easily and with one good whack of my shoe end it's short life. Crawling quietly out of my bed as to not wake Dean or Sam I instead reach for Buster's leash.

We only made it to Mississippi last night but I suspect another long day crammed into the back seat of a stranger's car. Traveling to a place I've never been to meet a man I know nearly nothing about.

Peachy.

Grabbing my jacket and room key I quietly let myself and my k9 companion out. The waking world turns the sky a brilliant shade of lavender, fading into blue as the sun creeps its way over the horizon. From the looks of it I'm the only person in this entire complex that's up. A random collection of cars litter the parking lot. Not a one parked within two spaces of another. We humans are so untrusting. Not that we have much of a choice in the matter. The world is ending, the most ignorant of idiots can sense it. Even though they're not quite sure why everybody's on edge.

Last night I thought I had spotted a small courtyard type area somewhere around here. No fancy fountains or plants, just a bench and a few picnic tables. With Buster quick on my heals we make our way around the side of the building. Dipping behind the tree line only long enough for my pet gorilla to do his business. Five minutes later and I'm wiping the dew off one of the bench seats. Buster's leash is extendible so I can remain seated while he sniffs around. I allow my eyes to wander but can't seem to retain any grip on what I'm looking at. Everything feels far away. A copy of a copy of an old memory I thought I'd lost.

I want my worn in house shoes. My mornings sitting atop my red kitchen cabinets. Legs crossed. Gingerly sipping my coffee. The day's weather playing half muted on the television. Instead I find myself here. A worn down motel with absolutely no prospects.

"Fuck." I hiss at the wind.

Fuck

Fuck

Fuck

Running a hand through my hair I work out the tangles. Little unhealthy rips and tears as the knots pull loose. My hair is always a mangled bird's nest in the morning. I don't sleep particularly well.

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

Dean's standing next to me. Boots half tied. Face flushed with adrenaline. I could have jumped but I heard him coming. He must have woken up and noticing that I was gone had assumed the worst. I say nothing and instead hold out my pack of camels. A peace offering.

"Cancer stick? No thanks." Dean scolds me as he waves the pack away. Just because my choices differ from his he immediately assumes they're wrong. Yes I know smoking is dangerous. Yes I know it can lead to health issues and death but who the hell wants to be 90 anyways? "That crap is gonna kill you one day."

"Well it better get in line." I retort while dusting off my jeans, pale skin sticking out from under my sleeve like wax poured over a skeleton. With the cigarette in my hand I flick the ash off the end and watch it as it settles atop the small pile growing next to my foot. I watch the cherry crackle and burn. For a moment I think about thumbing it into the flesh of my forearm. Scorched skin. Self harm. Anything to wake me up from the nightmare I was in. Beside me Dean shifts his weight uncomfortably, clearly use to having the last word.

This was going to lead to problems.

"Come on." Pinching my shoulder he motions for me to follow him but I'm only half way through my first smoke of the day. Breakfast. The most important meal. Seeing that I haven't followed him he snatches the cigarette from out of my hand and flicks it off into the dewy grass.

"You owe me fifty cents asshole." I grumble, raising from my seat slowly and tugging at Buster's leash. Swerving around Dean I trout myself back to our room. When I open the door I have to squeeze my eyes shut and try to adjust to the darkness. Buster does a better job than myself and I watch his silhouette as it saunters across the rough motel carpeting.

"Get your stuff together we're heading out soon." Dean says from where he now sits at the end of his bed. Tired hands rubbing tired eyes. This guy, there was something about him I just couldn't put my finger on. With enough problems of my own to worry about I turn my attention to the small belongings I have with me. The clothes I'm wearing, my wallet, and my cell phone. No more down comforters. High hell shoes. Those expensive fragments of normality.

Falling backwards onto the bed I reach for last night's pillow and yank it over my head. Buster immediately jumps atop me and begins pawing wildly at the tacky early 80's patterned linen.

"Stop it Buster." I yell through the cotton. My voice a muffled jumble of confusion.

"Up!" Dean smacks my foot from where it dangles off the edge bed. I give him a strong kick before dragging myself into the bathroom. When I emerge Sam has returned, Dean is busy scarfing down his breakfast at the sad excuse for a table.

"Here." Sam says as he steps to me, a plastic bag in his hand. "I didn't know your size so I did the best I could." From across the room Dean scoffs at his bother's attempt at politeness but I smile. More often than not it's the little things that build lasting friendships.

"Thanks Sam you really didn't have to." The youngest Winchester just shakes his head in disagreement before returning to his packing.

Settling at the edge of my bed I take a look inside my little goody bag. Tooth brush, tooth paste, deodorant, hair brush, there is even treats for Buster. Ripping off the seal I toss one over my shoulder. With a loud chomp it is instantly devoured. Digging further I find a few t shirts, v neck cut, just the way I like them. Along with a pair of jeans. Thanking Sam again I hurry off to the restroom to get dressed.

It's after midnight when we arrive at the Souix Falls general hospital. One step through the sliding door and suddenly everything smells like clorox. Tub after tub used daily to kill the smell of piss and death. No body really wants to consider it but you can assume that somewhere, covered in bed sores, and hooked up to a dozen machines some one is dying.

My eye lids flutter, heavy with sleep. Step after step I follow the brothers. Everything is white, the fluorescent lights blinding. Nervously I tug at my charcoal colored t shirt. My black flats still dusty with ash. See the thing is I had yet to formally met Bobby Singer but I pretty much owe him my life. When my father began hunting it was Bobby who had shown him the ropes. Salt. Silver. Holy Water. All the necessities. Not all of us are brought up in the hunting life style, most of us get tossed in by circumstance. Palming the wrinkles out of my jeans we make our way down a long hall way. I wanted to look some what presentable. A truly fruitless effort given how disheveled I look.

"One delivery for Bobby Singer!"

Announces Dean in a hushed whisper as we dip our way into Bobby's room. Making sure to dodge the nurses and orderlies. It is long after visiting hours. With small steps I make my way towards the hospital bed. Eyes directly a head of me. Nerves tucked down somewhere deep inside. On it lies a man that I remember mostly from old photographs. White male in his late forties. Blue eyes. Instantly recognizable by that beard.

"Hi Bobby." I nearly whisper as I step forward.

"My god." Bobby's cobalt blue go eyes wide. "You look just like your mother."

My breath catches in my throat and I am instantly the center of attention.

We have just lost cabin pressure.

I've never met my mother. She died during childbirth and had no surviving relatives. There was no grandmother or aunt to run to for answers. All I know of her was the few things my father told me.

She loved daffodils.

Fantastic since of humor.

My eyes.

As much as I love and trust my father I can't help but fear that he's keeping secrets. Time and time I had fought with him, demanding answers but never truly receiving any. "The truth is given to us all in our time and in our turn." He would say and I would flee. Blood boiling lava hot with anger. All those years I waited. If Bobby knew my mother, knew her well enough to see a comparison, then perhaps he could help fill in the blanks.

What was my dead mother like?

Why is someone trying to kill me?

What's the meaning of life?

You know, just the usual chit chat

"You knew my mother?" I'm at the edge of his bed now. Fingers rapped tightly around the railing, leaning in on the chance that I might miss some crucial fact.

"Oh I knew her." My heart melts and swells as he chuckles. Brain busy at work creating a thousand different scenarios in which my mother must have done something hilarious worth remembering. Perhaps she was clumsy. Hopeful. Kind. Any number of possibilities built in the place of ignorance.

"Dad never told me much about her." I mumble. Eyes down cast. The happy moment suddenly gone. "Bobby where is he?"

"That's not a story for tonight kid." He replies as he tosses the blankets over him. It's now that I notice how impossibly still his legs our. No one has told me but it's obvious. Closing the gap of space between my hand and his I grab a hold of Bobby. Hot tears sting the corners of my eyes. Flashes of memories flicker through my mind. "Now we just need to focus on keeping you safe."

Looking down at our two hands, joined for the first time in years, I feel terror creep its way in. Paranoia firing alarms in the furthest corners of my mind. When Dad and I completely fell of the grid he cut off connections with everyone we use to know. Informants, other hunters, old partners. Any one that knew who we really were. He even went so far as to assure me that my godfather himself had died and would be of no use trying to find.

What a crock of shit.

With tired eyes I looked at the man whose death I had mourned for months. Whose presence I had missed for years. A man who had been alive all this time.

"What's after me Bobby?" I nearly pleaded.

"We don't know."


End file.
